


A Two-Girl Pig

by Meltha



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, Season 2, stuffed animals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-07
Updated: 2012-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-29 03:36:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/315380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meltha/pseuds/Meltha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr. Gordo is kidnapped by Angelus and given to Drusilla as a gift. Our pink fuzzy hero introduces Drusilla and Spike to one of the world’s greatest pleasures. Extremely fluffy stuff. Literally, actually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Two-Girl Pig

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elinora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elinora/gifts).



> Disclaimer: All characters are owned by Mutant Enemy (Joss Whedon), a wonderfully creative company whose characters I have borrowed for a completely profit-free flight of fancy. Kindly do not sue me, please, as I am terrified of you. Thank you.
> 
> Author's Note: Written for the Mr. Gordo ficathon in response to Elinora’s request for Spike and Drusilla in any time period and piggy angst, but no pork chops.

A whole day had passed since Daddy had given Drusilla the little stuffed pig. Angel had thrown it at her and told her to shut up, though she tried very hard to pretend he had presented the stuffed animal to her gallantly on bended knee. He had apparently grown tired of her singing “Ring Around the Rosie” for hours. It was most impolite of him, and she felt quite horrible for their pink guest who had come rocketing through the air like a swallow, only pigs don’t have wings, of course, so he bounced against the factory’s dirty floor. She’d apologized profusely to the stuffed animal, who seemed to have a sad, lonely look on his face.

“Hush now, my sweet,” she’d purred softly to it, cradling it gently against the lace of her dress. “Piggies don’t cry, you know. They say crocodiles do, but I wouldn’t know about that.”

The little pig, however, had refused to answer her. She had considered being cross with it, but something about him made her stop. Drusilla could be very patient when she had a mind to be, and just now she wanted to be occupied with anything other than the voices that whispered to her all kinds of ugly, disgusting things that a lady shouldn’t hear. Things about two souls for the price of one and gaping mouths of hell that swallowed up princes and made the lovely darkness go away and pretty blonde Death who stole and stole and refused to choose which cookies to bake until the dough grew moldy and other things she didn’t quite understand. She wanted the voices to be liars, but they never had been before, and they pinched her heart with nasty, sharp-clawed fairy hands no one else could see or feel.

But on the day after Angelus had given her the gift, the pig had sighed softly. Angelus had been in the room at the time. He was always in Drusilla’s bedroom now by day, though he usually was quite drunk and passed out soundly after he was finished doing things to her. Some of them she liked, and others she didn’t, but that never seemed to matter to him. Her Angel did as he pleased, and she wouldn’t dare complain or else he might leave again and never come home. The planets played mocking music when she thought that, so she blocked her ears to keep their words from telling her what she knew was a maybe-future.

Still, she missed Spike lying beside her in a happy tangle of limbs, all cool and smooth. He’d always curled round her like a python, snuggled close, sometimes even breathing in a gentle rhythm against her throat. She’d liked that. It tickled so that it made her giggle. Angel never breathed. He never held her. He always rolled over to the side of the bed furthest from her and hoarded the covers before whatever he’d been drinking that night made him go all away and wake in the morning with a dreadful headache.

But the pig sat on Drusilla’s bedside table that night, and she’d heard it sigh most clearly. She’d blinked in surprise and, after making sure Angel was not going to wake, she turned on her side and stared at the stuffed animal for a good long while. Not much happened at first, but then she saw one leg move just the tiniest bit, and the pig sighed again, very sadly.

“Good evening,” she said quietly, minding her manners as a good girl should, just as Mamma had taught. “How do you do?”

The pig looked back at her through shoe-button black eyes, regarding her carefully before finally sighing a third time. She heard his voice in her mind say, “Hi.”

“I’m Drusilla,” she said, again being very polite to her guest. “Who are you?”

“You can hear me?” the little voice came again, sounding unmistakably surprised.

“Of course I can, if you speak to me,” Drusilla said. “But I can’t hear you if you don’t speak, you know. That’s only logical. What shall I call you?”

“I’m Mr. Gordo,” said the soft, fuzzy voice in her head.

“Mr. Gordo… that’s a funny name, but then you’re a funny little thing,” she said, considering. “It will do.”

“I’d like to go home, please?” asked the little pig.

“But you are home, dearie,” she said, scooting up to a sitting position and carefully setting the pig on her lap. “Daddy brought you home especially for me. You’re my little piggy, and you shall stay home, for I won’t send you to market. They do bad things to pigs there.”

The pig seemed to consider that for a moment. “I belong to another girl, though. I don’t know if I can be the piggy of two different girls. That’s an awful lot for one stuffed animal to do.”

“My Angel said you belonged to the nasty Slayer,” she said, patting his pink head almost absently. “He rescued you from her when he went to draw her picture. You must have had a most awful life, little Mr. Gordo, if you belonged to her. I’m sorry about that.”

“No!” the voice squeaked loudly in her mind’s ear. “My Girl isn’t bad! I love her lots!”

Drusilla tilted her head, thinking hard. “But Slayers are mean, horrid, wicked girls who kill us,” she explained patiently. “Didn’t your Girl hurt you?”

“Sometimes she hugs a little tight,” Mr. Gordo said truthfully, “but that’s all.”

“But Daddy said…,” Drusilla began, becoming flustered, “he said you’d rather be here with me.”

“Do you mean that one over there?” Mr. Gordo asked, nodding his snout towards Angel. “He took me away. I told him to put me down, but he didn’t listen.”

“They never do, do they?” she said, commiserating. “I don’t understand why they can’t hear when so many things speak: moon, sun, stars, dollies, dishtowels. Once upon a time when we were in Paris, Miss Edith told Spike that he’d forgotten to button his pants, and he didn’t pay any attention but stalked round the whole night that way, and when he asked me why I’d said nothing, I said it would have been impolite to repeat what Miss Edith had already said so clearly. Then he rolled his eyes. He does that sometimes. Do you think he has an eye problem and should go to the doctor who makes people choose between the first and second little glass window?”

Mr. Gordo paused before answering, “No. I think he’s okay. My Girl does that sometimes, and her eyes work.”

“That’s good,” Drusilla said, relieved. “He has enough trouble with not walking. It makes him cranky. But why didn’t you want Daddy to take you? I’ll be ever so good to you, Mr. Gordo. I promise. You may ask my dollies for references if you wish. And I never eat pork. Ever.”

Drusilla ignored the pixie who came hurtling past, screaming that Spike would eat nothing but in a few years. She batted it out of the way.

“I’m sure that you’re very nice, Miss Streusel.”

“That’s Drusilla,” she corrected.

“Oh,” the pig said, a little worried. “Uh… that’s kind of hard to say.”

“It is, isn’t it?” she admitted. “I forget it myself sometimes. Well, you may call me Streusel if you wish.”

“Thank you,” Mr. Gordo said happily. “That’s nice of you. But, you see, that big man with the dark fur took me away from my Girl, and I really love my Girl. I love her Big One, too, and I’m even going to love the Shiny Fur girl who isn’t there yet, but later we’ll all think she was.”

“Oh, you know about her too!” Drusilla cried in delight. “No one understands it except me. It’s so simple, isn’t it? Just like when the universe spins backwards every second Tuesday. But no one else notices, do they?”

“No, they don’t,” the little pig agreed. “Most people are a little dim, aren’t they?”

Drusilla nodded solemnly.

“But, you see, I miss my Girl. She’s my family, and that Dark One took me away from her,” Mr. Gordo said, and suddenly he sniffled. “I want to go home!”

“He took your family away,” she said, and her eyes wandered from the little pig, looking far into the past. “Yes, he does that sometimes. It’s a very bad habit. He breaks up a family, then makes one, then breaks it, then makes it again, and it’s all very confusing.”

Mr. Gordo tipped his head again, just a bit. “I guess so. Did he steal you from someone’s window, too?”

“Yeah,” she said, her eyes sliding sideways back to the pig. “A big stained glass one.”

“Did you ask him to let you go?” Mr. Gordo asked.

“Yeah,” she repeated. “He didn’t listen to me either.”

“Why don’t you go back now? I can’t really go anywhere on my own, but your walky-things work,” Mr. Gordo suggested.

“I can’t,” she said simply. “They’re all dead. Angelus has a nasty habit of doing that, too.”

Mr. Gordo suddenly gave a very visible shudder. “I don’t like him very much. When he took the stick and made a picture of Girl, my fur stood on end. I think my Girl’s Big One’s books would say he has ish-yous.”

“Oh, no! He’s very nice! He just likes killing people and torturing them and chaos and destruction and wants to end the world!” she said, then frowned a bit. “I guess I can see your point, though.”

“Miss Streusel, will you take me back home?” the piggy asked, a little sob in his throat.

“I couldn’t even if I wished just now,” she replied. “It’s daylight, and the sun burns badly.”

Mr. Gordo sighed one last time, but Drusilla grabbed his around his middle and held him very close to her face.

“Would it be okay if I held you today instead of your girl? Hmmm?” she asked with a grin.

The pig tilted his head to think about it, and Drusilla giggled.

“You look like my Spike when you do that!” she said, then her face fell. “I miss my Spike. I don’t get cuddled anymore. Will you let me cuddle you?”

Mr. Gordo knew at once that this was a job for a stuffed animal. “Of course! That’s what piggies do best!”

“Good,” she said as she nestled against the pillows, holding him tightly under her chin as she fell asleep. “Good pig.”

Mr. Gordo spent a rather uncomfortable night. Drusilla had started out sleeping quietly enough, but then she’d begun tossing and turning, her arms still wrapped around him, and he’d gone for quite a wild ride as she started to thrash around in earnest. She’d startled mumbling too, and while he couldn’t understand most of it, the bits he could made him start shuddering so much he worried that he might wake her up.

A doll on the other side of the room looked at him sympathetically and shook her head, quietly telling him that this was normal for her. The doll’s china cheeks had little tears on them, and Mr. Gordo felt very bad for Miss Streusel, particularly when the nasty Dark One finally woke up and, complaining that her noise made his head throb, kicked her out of bed and onto the floor before wandering out the door.

“What am I doing down here?” she said as she flexed her back. “Were we having a tea party on the floor and I fell asleep with guests there? How terribly rude of me! I shall be punished!”

“No, everything is okay,” the little pig said with a smile. “But we can have a tea party if you want. I like those, especially if we get to have peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I can’t really eat them, but I the smell is good.”

Drusilla seemed to like that idea because she started smiling. “I don’t think we have that. We’ve something that looks like strawberry jelly, though it’s rather runny. But that’s easily mended. I shall go to the store and get peanut butter and jelly.”

Drusilla clambered up from the floor and grabbed a wicker picnic basket from under a table covered with dolls. Then she opened an old wooden chest against one wall and began packing the basket with little cups and plates and other things for a picnic, as well as some things that Mr. Gordo thought were a little strange: fuzzy pink earmuffs, a hammer, a roll of the stuff Girl called duck tape (though it didn’t quack or have feathers), a rock, and several pairs of socks. Last of all, she looked carefully at all the different dolls in the room, and finally she nodded and added one of them to the basket as well before returning to where Mr. Gordo still sat on the floor.

“I should like you to meet Miss Edith,” she said solemnly as she showed him the doll. “She’ll join us on our picnic if that’s okay.”

“That would be nice!” Mr. Gordo said happily as she stowed him in the basket next to the doll. He recognized her as the same one who had been crying last night. “Hi!”

“Good day, or rather, night,” said the dolly in the same sort of faraway accent as Drusilla while her mistress hurried to change into a new frock. “I’m sorry you had such a bad night’s rest.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” Mr. Gordo said. “It made me a little dizzy, but then that can be fun. Are you Miss Streusel’s doll?”

“Yes,” she said primly and with a trace of pride. “I have been with her for almost a whole century now. We get on very well together.”

“Wow,” Mr. Gordo said. “That’s a long time. I’ve been my Girl’s pig since she was little. Were you with Miss Streusel when she was little, too?”

“No,” Miss Edith said sadly, watching Drusilla slip on a pair of high-buttoned shoes. “I came along later. She’s always big for as long as we’ve known each other.”

“She needs a lot of snuggling, doesn’t she?” Mr. Gordo asked.

“Well, look at all the dolls,” Miss Edith said, nodding at the sea of china faces, most of who waved their hands or smiled at Mr. Gordo in welcome. “We need all the help we can get, though, so we’re most glad you’ve come. It’s been hard lately to make her smile, even harder than usual. She’s Seeing things, and they aren’t happy things at all.”

Mr. Gordo gulped. His new world was, as his Girl would say, very wiggins worthy.

The next thing Mr. Gordo knew, he and Miss Edith were being carried in the basket through the old factory, Drusilla humming a tune as she walked. She’d left the top open on the basket so the two toys could see where they were going. Just as they were about to go out the door, a voice called out behind them.

“Oi! Dru, where you off to?” said someone, and then there was some squeaking noises.

When Drusilla turned around, Mr. Gordo was able to see a man sitting in a chair with wheels. He had very white hair, kind of like his Girl’s gran pa had, but there weren’t any wrinkles on his face, and his eyes were blue and kind of twinkly.

“I’m off to have a picnic with my guest,” she said, nodding at the basket. “Would you like to come, my Spike?”

The boy smiled up at her and said, “Yeah, think I could do with a night out, even if it is with Porky here as chaperone.”

“His name isn’t Porky,” Drusilla said, frowning. “It’s Mr. Gordo.”

“Alright then, Mr. Gordo it is,” he said with a grin as he picked him up. “Where’d you get him, love? He’s a cute little bugger.”

“Hi!” Mr. Gordo said. “I’m not a bug, though.”

“Of course you’re not, dear. My Spike just likes using naughty words, silly boy that he is,” Drusilla said. “He was a gift from Daddy from the Slayer’s house.”

“He stole her stuffed pig?” Spike said, raising an eyebrow. “Okay, if that’s part of his plan to drive her bonkers, he bloody well needs a bit of brushing up. He was babbling on tonight about going fishing, whatever that’s supposed to me. Cracked as an old pot.”

“Now, Spike,” Drusilla said in a tone that sounded a lot like one Girl’s Big One sometimes used, “it isn’t nice to call people crazy.”

By this time, Mr. Gordo was riding on Spike’s lap as the boy used his arms to push the wheels forward. The little piggy was having a lot of fun.

“Weeee!” he cried. “This is almost like riding in one of the match bocks cars!”

“Yeah. My Spike can’t walk just now, but he’s getting stronger every day,” she said, then nipped the boy affectionately on the nose. “Nasty Slayers couldn’t kill him.”

“Still not getting better fast enough for my taste,” Spike sighed, but his arms kept turning the wheels as he and Drusilla walked down the street.

“He is kind of upset about that,” Miss Edith told Mr. Gordo from her perch in the basket beside them. “He never laughs anymore.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Drusilla agreed.

“Pet,” Spike said carefully, “you know, it might not be such a great idea to talk to the pig and the doll out in public. The townsfolk are staring a mite… and considering how much they don’t notice, that’s alarming.”

“Oh, pooh,” Drusilla said. “They can stare if they wish. I’m a princess, and if I say ‘Off with their heads!’ then it shall be so, won’t it?”

“Too right,” Spike said affectionately, taking a pause from wheeling to give her hand clutching the basket a squeeze. “You do as you want. Bunch of wankers the lot of ‘em.”

At long last they came to a small market attached to a gas station. Drusilla held the door open for Spike, who seemed to wince a little at that, then followed behind him.

“What we pickin’ up, then? Jack? Bit o’choccy? I could do with a pack of cigs while I’m here,” he said, ignoring the man behind the bulletproof glass who was staring at the punk-attired man in a wheelchair with a stuffed pig on his lap.

“None of that!” Drusilla said, smacking his hand as he reached for a bottle of vodka. “Mr. Gordo wishes to have peanut butter and jelly at our tea, and I’ll not have the air stinky from your cigarettes!”

“Thought you liked the smell of ‘em,” Spike said, noticing with satisfaction that the cashier had fled for his life when he realized the two new customers didn’t show up at all in the curved shoplifting mirror.

“I do. They smell of death,” Drusilla said nonchalantly as she stared at a pack of bubble gum. “But not when we’re eating. At least not human food. Or rather, at least not food made for humans.”

Mr. Gordo, meanwhile, was having a splendid time rolling up and down all the colorful aisles in the store. He saw lots of candy and funny bottles in different colors and bags like the kind the Shaggy Hair Boy seemed to always have with him. There was even a wall full of clear doors, and when Spike opened one of them, it was just like being outside in the very cold time. Meanwhile, Spike’s lap was getting to be a crowded place. There was a long box full of smelly things, some of the bottles they’d passed, and even a little pile of chocolate bars. Mr. Gordo knew all about chocolate. When his Girl was upset, sometimes she’d eat chocolate while she talked to him. She said it made her feel better, but not quite as good as he did because cuddling him didn’t make her not fit in her leather pants. Mr. Gordo wasn’t quite sure how something that wasn’t soft and fuzzy and cuddly could solve problems, but he was sure his Girl knew more about it than he did. It looked like this boy agreed with her.

“Dru! Peanut butter’s over here,” Spike suddenly called out. “Stuff looks completely indigestible. I don’t know why you’d want it.”

“My Mr. Gordo says it’s nice,” Drusilla said firmly. “Should I get the crunchy kind or the smooth?”

“How should I know? I’ve never tasted the it,” Spike said, shuddering.

“I wasn’t asking you,” Drusilla snapped playfully. “Mr. Gordo, you are the expert. What shall it be?”

“Smooth, I think,” Mr. Gordo said plainly. “My Girl says the crunchy kind sticks in her teeth.”

“I shouldn’t want that,” Drusilla said, choosing a jar of the smooth peanut butter. “My teeth are very important to me. Now, where has the jelly gotten to?”

After a few more minutes, they left the store with a couple bags of things. Mr. Gordo hadn’t seen them leave any green stuff or shiny stuff on the counter, but then he was sure they wouldn’t do anything wrong. Spike had stuffed him back in Drusilla’s basket and gone back inside alone for a moment. A few seconds later, he came shooting out at top speed, and together they went to the park across the street. No sooner had they gotten there than the market suddenly exploded into flames.

“Ooooo!” Drusilla squealed. “Fireworks on the ground! Pretty!”

“S’right, Dru,” Spike replied, looking strangely satisfied with himself. “Quite nice if I do say so myself.”

Mr. Gordo couldn’t help thinking that they’d all been lucky to leave before the fire started. It was a very fortunate coincidence.

As the wailing fire trucks arrived and the gas pumps exploded in a frighteningly tall wall of fire that scared Mr. Gordo quite badly, Spike and Drusilla continued walking peacefully through the park. Miss Edith looked at the pig over the top of the basket and gave him a shrug as if to say this sort of thing happened fairly often.

Finally, deep inside the park, Drusilla set out a lovely linen tablecloth on the ground underneath a tree and poured something out of a teapot into pretty little mugs. It must have been cranberry juice. Then she took out the jam, peanut butter, and bread, and stared at it in confusion.

“How does one do this?” she asked.

“Just put some peanut butter on one piece, and some jelly on the other, and smoosh them together, but make sure to but off the crusts! I think they might be poison,” Mr. Gordo said seriously.

Drusilla nodded sagely and began the grand culinary task. As she spread a bit too much peanut butter on the bread, Spike worked his way slowly out of the chair with wheels and pulled himself over to the tree where he could sit with his back against the trunk. Mr. Gordo and Miss Edith, who had been propped up on the tablecloth to watch the proceedings, both noticed how he smiled warmly at Drusilla as she stuck her tongue out of her mouth in an effort to make everything nice.

“There now,” she said triumphantly. “Are those right?”

Mr. Gordo nodded enthusiastically as he sniffed the night air, perfumed with peanut butter and strawberry jelly from a great pile of sandwiches Drusilla had made using the entire loaf of bread.

“I could have sworn I saw…,” Spike began to say, but he shook his head. “Trick of the moonlight.”

Drusilla, Mr. Gordo, and Miss Edith all exchanged looks, but none of them said anything as the girl carefully stacked the fruits of her labor on little china dishes. Then she took a dainty bite out of one corner of a sandwich, chewing delicately. As the taste exploded on her tongue, her eyes grew huge then scared Mr. Gordo a little by turning bright yellow as she suddenly lunged at the little pile of sandwiches and swallowed two of them whole.

Spike stared at her. “Bloody hell, Dru, they can’t be that good.”

She stopped scarffing the sandwiches long enough to hand him a stack, then continued eating ravenously. Spike sniffed a corner, made a face like Girl did when she smelled Shaggy Hair Boy’s feet, then he took a bite.

And blinked.

What followed was carnage on a massive level. The little village of sandwiches was decimated in moments, and what remained were two big ones patting their bellies and two toys more than a little shocked at the behavior of the others.

“That was very good,” Drusilla declared in a surprisingly civilized, dabbing the corner of her mouth with a lace-trimmed napkin. “But it’s a pity there isn’t anymore bread.”

Spike grinned at her in a way Mr. Gordo thought looked rather naughty, and then did something he thought was silly. He took the butter knife and spread peanut butter on his left hand, followed by a plop of strawberry jelly from the spoon.

“Care for a taste, milady?” he asked, offering her his hand.

She giggled and licked the concoction off, then insisted he make a hand-sandwich on her palm and do the same for her. Miss Edith and Mr. Gordo felt a little uncomfortable as the two of them seemed to like licking the peanut butter and jelly off each other a whole, whole lot.

“So…,” Miss Edith said, studiously averting her eyes, “are you a Mets fan, perchance?”

“What’s a Mets?” Mr. Gordo asked.

“I would say no, then,” Miss Edith said, ignoring the fact that the other two guests at the picnic were becoming increasingly enamored with the peanut butter and jelly. “Do you have any hobbies?”

“I like to watch my Girl sleep, and I cuddle her, and sometimes Teddy and I look out the window at the birds in the trees and listen to them sing. And you?” Mr. Gordo said, his shoe button eyes decidedly turned away from the part of the blanket that was getting noisy.

“I enjoy listening to the music my Girl and her Spike play on their vic troll uh,” she said, then winced, “although that usually ends this way, too.”

The doll and the stuffed animal continued to chat for quite some time, finding out that they shared several things in common, especially that both of them loved their Girls very much.

“I feel kind of sorry for your Girl,” Mr. Gordo said seriously. “Is she okay?”

“Well… yes and no. She’s told me lots of secrets over the years, and a lot of them are very, very sad, and some of them I don’t understand at all,” she said. “She’s not entirely like everyone else.”

“Neither is my Girl,” Mr. Gordo agreed.

“They’re all special, aren’t they?” Miss Edith said with a smile.

As the stars moved across the sky, Drusilla and Spike finally picked up the picnic things and stuffed them back in the basket, hastily wiping their hands and mouths and possibly other things with the napkins to clean off the last bits of peanut butter and jelly.

“That,” said Drusilla, “was a very, very good idea Mr. Gordo had.”

“Absolutely brilliant,” Spike said, still panting a little. “Great blue blazes, I think I love that pig.”

“That’s nice!” Mr. Gordo said. “I love you too!”

“Spike is very easy to love, even if he is a trifle deaf,” Miss Edith said.

“Yes, he is very easy to love, isn’t he?” Drusilla said, but Spike thought she was talking about Mr. Gordo. Mr. Gordo just smiled.

When they left the park, Mr. Gordo noticed they weren’t going the same way they’d come. Drusilla was walking with a quick, determined gait, and Spike was having a hard time keeping up.

“Pet,” Spike shouted at her, “I’m not sure we want to be in this neighborhood.”

Drusilla ignored him and kept walking, very quickly, until they were outside of…

“This is Girl’s house,” Mr. Gordo said in surprise. “Why are we here, Miss Streusel?”

“Well, you did a pretty favor for me and my Spike, and now I think we should be nice back,” Drusilla said, heaving a little sigh. “Since your dearest wish is to go home, that’s where I’ve brought you.”

“Oh, Miss Streusel,” Mr. Gordo said, “I really do want to go home because my Girl needs me lots, but if you need me too, I think I can be a two-girl pig.”

Drusilla smiled a bittersweet smile at him, stroking his head softly. “I know you can. But I think you had better live here. I’ll be your other Girl in your heart, though. Yes?”

“Yes,” Mr. Gordo said as he was lifted from Spike’s lap in gentle hands. “I can do that.”

“Dru, I hate to bring this up, but you do have a problem here,” Spike said, oddly touched by the strange scene. “You don’t have an invite, you know.”

“Oh, I’ve got that all figured out, pretty Spike,” Drusilla said with a smile. “These humans can be so silly. Haven’t they ever heard of locking up?”

***

 

Meanwhile, upstairs in Buffy’s bedroom, Willow was curled up on Buffy’s bed, looking scared and sad.

“Thanks for having me over, Buffy, especially on a school night and all,” Willow said, looking around nervously.

“No problem. Hey, sorry about your fish,” Buffy said uncomfortably.

“Oh, it’s okay,” Willow replied, though she didn’t seem okay at all. “We hadn’t really had time to bond yet.”

As the two girls were talking, Mr. Gordo was tossed lightly from the yard below, up through the open window, and landed with a soft thump on the floor. Buffy quickly looked around to find her little pig staring up at her, smiling more broadly then ever.

“Mr. Gordo!” she squealed in delight. “Oh my gosh! I thought Ang… I thought something bad had happened to you.”

“Wait, Buffy,” Willow said, stopping her from hugging the stuffed animal. “You don’t think he could be, you know, evil now or something, do you?”

Buffy reached out carefully with her Slayer senses, but nothing seemed out of place.

“I think he’s okay,” Buffy said certainly, picking him up, “although he does smell kind of like peanut butter and jelly for some reason. Weird.”

 

***

Down on the lawn, Drusilla and Spike watched the silhouettes of the two girls cuddling the stuffed animal.

“We make a pact not to tell Angelus a word about any of this, yeah?” Spike said firmly.

“Okay,” Drusilla agreed. “But Spike?”

“Yeah, pet?”

“Would you call me Streusel, please?”

“Anything you want, love,” he said as they rolled down the street as the stars began to fade away.


End file.
